


Action Items for the Morning After

by lettered



Series: How Not To Be A Cliché [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettered/pseuds/lettered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pepper processes the aftermath of sleeping with Tony Stark.  This is gonna take some time.  And a fully annotated agenda, complete with multiple choice questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Action Items for the Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://my-daroga.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**my_daroga**](http://my-daroga.dreamwidth.org/) , for being interested.
> 
> This is the sequel to [Or Even Rearrange You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/485500). Probably works better if you've read that, but it's mostly porn, so it's also probably not necessary.
> 
> If you want, this series could be Tony/Pepper backstory for the series I’m writing, [Responsible Science](http://archiveofourown.org/series/21267). Other than the fact that I wrote them with the same characterizations in mind, though, they have very little to do with each other.
> 
> This takes place right near the end of _Iron Man 2_.

* 

**5:53 am**

The next morning Pepper woke up before the chime on her phone set to wake her. She usually did that; she just didn’t usually wake up beside Tony Stark. It wasn’t the most important thing on her agenda though—well, at least not the most immediate thing on her agenda. Pepper was good at prioritizing.

> 1\. Check messages.  
>  2\. Check with the Hilton. They usually hired FIT Events for sound, lighting, makeup—make sure the crews were in half an hour.

The press conference was at 11:30, but she knew these things took time.

> 3\. Return Reinberg’s call.

Reinberg? Was he _Newsweek_ or _The Economist_? Pepper scrolled through her contacts. He was _New York Times_.

Off your game, Pepper.

> 4\. Shower.

Washing his come off of her thighs didn’t merit mention on her agenda.

She still had to do it.

**6:18 am**

> 5\. Get dressed.

This wasn’t the first time she’d spent the night. It wasn’t even the second time. In fact, she kept clothes in the spare bedroom just in case. It was the first time she’d spent the night after sleeping with him, though, which made things different.

> 6\. Don’t be a teenager about this.  
>  7\. Pick up clothes off the living room floor.  
>  8\. And throw the condom wrapper away.  
>  9\. Call _The Economist_ , because apparently she hadn’t.

What was his name anyway? Oh, right, Lindhorst.

Really off your game.

**6:33 am**

> 10\. Arrange the flight to D.C.  
>  11\. Call the Hilton in D.C.  
>  12\. This should be like any other morning.  
>  13\. Talk to Nathan about the deposition for Hammer.

But it couldn’t be exactly like any other morning, Pepper thought, writing the email to Nathan. He was their lawyer; he’d help with her statement. When Tony got up she was going to give him breakfast—

> 14\. See what there was to eat breakfast.

—coffee, a pressed suit on a hangar and a list of things to do, and it really would seem like any other morning. The problem with that was that it was an invitation to _forget_. It was a way to say, _nothing has changed_ , and _we will go on as we did before_. There was a high probability that Tony, relieved by such an invitation, would jump at the chance.

**7:01 am**

> 15\. Tell JARVIS how much longer to let him sleep.  
>  16\. Make coffee.  
>  17\. Check news and Google alerts.  
>  18\. Take off the blouse she’d already put on, and put on his shirt.

The shirt he’d been wearing last night (when she had taken it off of him) was one of his tamer t-shirts. He’d probably still been out of it last night, or who knew; maybe for once he’d actively thought about not offending her by wearing one of his shirts that _didn’t_ have a naked lady on the front of it. This one just had a snake eating its tail, circling the spot where the arc reactor would have been on his body and where cleavage was on hers. Of course it was huge on her, but it was soft and cotton and she could tuck it in, put her suit coat over it.

There was too much work to do to waste time arguing or making out, but this wasn’t going to be like any other morning, and he was going to know that.

> 19\. Schedule appointments for the rest of those interviews, starting with Laura.  
>  20\. Call Lopez.  
>  21\. Write a couple notes for the press conference.

Not that he ever paid attention to them.

> 22\. Write a couple notes for _her_ press conference.

Hers was right after his. She was still debating about when to even tell him about hers.

**7:56 am**

> 23\. Get a cup of coffee.  
>  24\. Text Mom.

JARVIS should have woken him up by now; he was probably showering.

> 25\. Maybe make out with him a little.

*

**8:03 am**

It wasn’t like any of the other mornings.

When he came into the kitchen, he’d showered, shaved, and dressed. For once he looked well-rested and relaxed—for Tony Stark, he looked _extremely_ relaxed. He used to look like this after getting laid, before Afghanistan. Not so often since then. He actually looked _happy_ even; though he never smiled much, an echo of one ghosted on the side of his mouth.

“Morning,” he said, even though she’d had JARVIS wake him up at 7:30 am, which he used to claim was an unholy hour.

“Good morning,” she said, putting a cup of coffee in front of him. “You have a press conference at 11:30.”

“Like your shirt.”

> Question #1: How to respond.  
>  A) This old thing?  
>  B) I slept with some guy and all I got was this t-shirt.  
>  C) I had a good time last night.  
>  D) How can you make me want you again so fast? Without even trying?

“Fury wants to see you this afternoon,” Pepper said, pouring herself another cup of coffee.

“Pepper,” said Tony, and came around the counter. “I really like your shirt.” His hand closed over her hip, and he was leaning in. She closed her eyes; his breath ghosted over her mouth, and then he said, “Fury wants to see me?”

“Romanoff called,” Pepper said, and moved away. The English muffins were done toasting.

“Why didn’t she call me?”

“She likes me better,” said Pepper.

“Why?”

“Because I return phone calls. And schedule meetings. And go to meetings. Basically, I do all the things you don’t.”

Tony just stood there. “And you’re a fantastic screamer,” he said, after a long moment.

“The government wants to award you and Rhodey for services rendered,” she said, buttering the muffins. “You have to go to D.C. tomorrow.”

“Pepper.” Tony moved closer again.

“I arranged a jet.”

“Pepper,” Tony said again, and then did kiss her, that time.

She was already melting against him, just like the butter in the English muffins. She really hadn’t meant to be the butter in this situation.

“Is this weird?” Tony said. “I can stop.”

It didn’t feel like he could stop at all as he planted tiny kisses down the side of her jaw—tiny, surprisingly delicate kisses, and the way his hand cupped the other side of her face was gentle. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him.

“Okay,” he said, and rested his chin on her shoulder. He only had to slump a little to do that, and she was trapped against the counter.

“I was making breakfast,” she pointed out.

“Don’t make breakfast,” he murmured. His hand was on her hip, thumb slowly circling her hipbone. “I liked what we did last night.”

“I liked it too.”

“Really?” Actually sounding surprised, he leaned back to look at her. “Can we do it again?”

“You have a press conference.” She was still holding the butter knife.

“At 11:30. Four hours.”

“Less than three and a half,” she pointed out. “And you need to—”

“Are you sore?” His thumb still circled her hipbone.

“What?”

“Are you sore from last night; does it hurt?”

“More of an ache,” she said, and made herself turn back to the muffins. Ache wasn’t the right word either. It wasn’t uncomfortable. She could just feel that he’d been there. Between her legs.

His hand slid from her hip to the small of her back as he came to stand beside her. “Sorry.”

“Don’t say _sorry_.” Without turning around, she put the knife down on the counter. A little hard.

“I can be sorry.”

“I’m not,” she said, and reached for the jam.

“Let me.” Taking it out of her hands, Tony’s hands finally left her body to open the jam, and she was sorry for that. “I didn’t mean I was sorry we had sex. That was great sex. Extraordinary sex. I will never regret it. Even if you do.” He put the knife in the jam.

“Tony—”

“Was that dickly? That was dickly. I didn’t mean you’re going to regret it. That wasn’t a threat.” He started spreading the jam.

“Tony—”

“No, I meant I’m sorry about the cold feet thing. The self-sacrificial thing. I got a little carried away. I was thinking about Captain America or something. Not while we were having sex, because that would be—”

“Tony—”

“Well, okay, so I was thinking about him a _little_ while having sex, but who doesn’t. I told you I have an addiction. Not to Captain America. To sex. With men. And all kinds of women. But you’re right; that doesn’t define me, or anyway, it’s not the only thing that defines me. I mean, you kind of define me, and that’s important too—”

“ _Tony_.”

Tony, spreading the jam on the last muffin, finally looked over. “I’m trying to get out something really important here, Pepper. I’m telling you I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

“That’s strawberry jam.”

“What?” He looked down.

“That jam was for your breakfast. Not mine. You just put strawberry jam on all the breakfast. We had the conversation about my allergy _four days ago_.”

“Oh.” Tony looked down at the muffins. “Can we get McDonald’s?”

“Eat your breakfast,” she said, and left the kitchen.

**8:13 am**

> 26\. Follow up with Lindhorst.  
>  27\. Check in again at the Hilton.  
>  28\. Check the NASDAQ.  
>  29\. S&P 500.  
>  30\. Choose his suit and tie.  
>  31\. Forward his appointments to Happy.  
>  32\. Email Amed about that contractor.  
>  33\. Read over her notes.  
>  34\. Make sure he hadn’t burnt down the kitchen/damage control.

**8:31 am**

He was sitting at the bar draining his cup when she got back to the kitchen. There was an empty plate in front of him.

“Good notes,” he said.

He must have meant the ones for the press conference, because she’d forwarded them earlier, but she was still surprised. “You read them?”

“I sounded all the big words out. Though I’ll never pass a test for literacy, I’m getting much better with the letters of the alphabet.”

Swallowing, she reached for his plate so she could take it over to the sink, but he grabbed her wrist instead. “You usually ignore them,” she said.

“I read everything you send me.”

“Since when?”

“Twelve—eight hours ago?” Letting go of her hand, Tony picked up his phone.

She didn’t take the plate to the sink. Instead she stood there and said, “Tony.”

“It’s okay.” Frowning, he scrolled through something on his phone. “I’ve been a piece of shit for—wow. A really long time. It’s going to take a while. Even just to rise through the ranks to become a mild turd. You’ll have to help me with some of it. A lot of it. I—”

“I’m not going to help you become a mild turd.”

“That’s helpful. You’re a real inspiration.”

For a moment, Pepper just watched him. He didn’t seem particularly upset, but then again, he hardly ever seemed particularly upset. She knew that sometimes, he actually believed he was a piece of shit, but the fact that he was talking about it right now probably meant that it was bothering him a little more than usual but far less than it sometimes did, when things got really bad.

> Question #2, should she:  
>  A) Hold him.  
>  B) Kiss him.  
>  C) Tell him what she really thought of him.  
>  D) Have sex with him.

And if she picked D)—

> Question #3, did that make her a:  
>  A) A pity-fucker,  
>  B) Horny,  
>  C) A girl with something to prove,  
>  D) A lovesick teenager, or  
>  E) All of the above?

_Begin as you mean to go on_ was an excellent piece of business advice she’d learned in school. It was in _The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People_ , and Pepper had taken it to heart. The question was how she meant to go on. She honestly didn’t know.

She hadn’t had a plan for dating Tony Stark drawn up in her mind before she’d started doing it. He was the one who had complicated things anyway; she hadn’t planned on asking him to date her. Last night, there had been just one thing on the agenda.

> 1) Fuck him.

Or maybe it was a little more like:

> 1) Fuck him, and  
>  2) Be fucked by him.

It wasn’t that sex was all she wanted from Tony Stark; it was that she knew that she wanted him and knew that he wanted her. It was that he finally wasn’t her boss anymore, so that the idea of sex with him was finally on the table. It was that she didn’t need dating or romance or promises, if he couldn’t give her those things; he could give her his body, so she’d take what she wanted and deal with the rest later.

 _Take risks_ was an even better piece of business advice than _begin as you mean to go on_. As for the latter—

> Question #4, She was trying to decide whether she planned to ‘go on’ being:  
>  A) a fuck buddy,  
>  B) his girlfriend,  
>  C) his friend,  
>  D) his business partner, or  
>  E) all of the above

And if she chose E), how to juggle all those things at once. Unless she chose A), in which case she would have to juggle very little, she should probably find some answers to Question #2 (what should she do) that:

> • were healthier  
>  • were on the agenda  
>  • did not remind her of bad choices made in teenage years, and  
>  • addressed issues instead of avoiding them.

“You’re worried about it,” Tony said suddenly, putting his phone down. He turned to her. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to do anything stupid. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. There isn’t any point to self-sacrifice. Without myself, the world wouldn’t be as safe. And you were saying the same thing last night, and I was just being too . . . selfish to listen. I mean, you weren’t saying the world wasn’t safe without me; you were saying we’re better together, and I happen to agree. Wanna go out for sushi tonight?”

“No.”

“That’s okay. Peach cobbler?”

“No.”

“I know this great place. Serve it warm, with ice cream, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You weren’t thinking about me at all, were you,” Tony said. “Just now. You weren’t thinking about me thinking about being a mild turd.”

“Not in so many words.”

“I get it. Sorry. I still think we’re better together, though. That’s what you meant, last night, right?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay. Long as we’re clear.” Drumming his hands on the counter, he stood up from the bar. Looked around, kept drumming, then looked back at her. “What _were_ you thinking about?”

Pepper pressed her lips together. “Having sex on the counter.”

He stopped drumming, looked down at the counter. “This counter right here?”

“That one.” She knew her cheeks were going pink, and she sort of hated that.

He looked at her with interest. “Were you worried about the structural integrity of it, or . . . was it something else?”

“Something else.”

Tony licked his lips, swallowed. “What is this? Twenty questions?”

“I was thinking about how I didn’t get to suck—” she swallowed—“suck you, and I was wondering whether it would be better there or . . . against the refrigerator.”

He stared at her. “Against the refrigerator, definitely.” He waited, then when she didn’t say anything, went on, “The counter would be awkward. Positioning especially. Leverage. I don’t understand how you would—but if you want to do it on the counter, we can on the counter. I’d let you. I mean, if you have some special kink, or something. Or even if you don’t, we could—who knows?” He brought his hand down hard and flat on the counter. “Maybe the structural integrity needs to be tested after all.”

Pepper just stood there. Mostly because she didn’t really believe she’d actually said that.

Tony just stared at her again. “Pepper,” he said, when the silence had stretched thirty seconds or more.

“What?”

“Did you mean it?” He didn’t really give her time enough to answer before going on, “Maybe you meant you wanted to suck something else; you didn’t have breakfast; are you . . .”

He trailed off, and she found her voice. “No, I meant your cock.”

He coughed. “Could you say that again, because I didn’t quite hear—”

“I want to suck your cock,” Pepper said, and found her powers of movement as well.

“Well, I’m all for that, if you . . .”

He trailed off again as she came toward him. He liked that she’d said it; she could already tell, so she came up close, put her hands on his shoulders, lips by his ear, and said, “I want to suck your cock.”

“Um,” said Tony.

“I want to suck it,” she said, and tugged on his shoulders. “I want to get it in my mouth, all of it in my mouth, and suck it.” He was off-guard—really, really off-guard—and it was nice to be able to do that to him so simply. It was fantastic, actually; she remembered the first time she’d gotten a contract he hadn’t been able to land. First time she’d made the company a big fat chunk of money by ignoring his ideas. First time she’d rendered him speechless, because she knew what he needed before he needed it and could do it better than him.

This felt like that.

“I can deep throat, you know,” Pepper told him. She wasn’t pushing him—not quite, but she kept moving into him and he kept backing up, and somehow he was going the direction she wanted him to. Maybe she was pushing him a little, her lips still beside his ear. “My gag reflex is very easily suppressed.”

He made an unmanly sound.

“I want all of your cock,” she said, when he was against the refrigerator, “inside of my mouth,” her lips brushed his earlobe, “like it was inside of my pussy last night.”

“I—knew you’d prefer the term pussy,” Tony said, and put a hand on her hip. It was almost tentative.

Pepper switched to his other ear. “I want your cock down my throat, like it was in my _cunt_ last night.” She unbuttoned his pants, slid her hand over his briefs, felt the hardness of his cock through fabric. At least it didn’t feel like a pity fuck, and she didn’t feel like a lovesick teen. She might still have been a girl with something to prove. She was definitely horny. “I want to swallow it,” she said, dragging her hand down the length of him. “All of it.”

“Swear I won’t object,” said Tony. His voice sounded rather weak.

“You did last night.”

“Mistake. Out of my mind, obviously. Wasn’t that obvious? I was—oh God.”

Her hand tightened around him, still holding him through stretchy nylon cotton.

“Pepper.” Tony’s voice was sort of a gasp. His hands were light on her hips. “I was nervous. I was really, really—could you just—”

“Are you nervous now?”

“No. Yes. Terrified, actually, but could you just—”

“Why would you be terrified?”

“Come on. Do we really have to have this convers—”

“If you want my lips wrapped around your cock, yes.” Pepper took away her hand, started pulling down his pants.

“Okay. You say that word really good.”

Pepper got his pants down, his briefs, trapped around his thighs, but his cock was free. “I can also say fuck,” she said, and put her hand back on him.

He swallowed. “I know.”

She pulled her hand up the length of him; he was already wet at the tip. Locking her other hand around the base, she went on, “I can tell you how I want you to fuck my mouth with your cock, while I suck you until you come.”

He made another sound, this one almost vaguely inhuman, but all he said was, “You say ‘k’s especially well.”

“Why are you scared?”

“I forgot a condom.”

“What?”

“I know. How could I? I’m a terrible person. I can go get one.” Rather carefully, he tried to move her aside. “They’re right over—”

Pepper didn’t move. “You’re stalling.”

“Stalling?”

“Tell me why you’re afraid.”

“I’m not stalling.” He always looked her straight in the eyes, when he lied. “I’m serious. About the condom. You can consider it a kink if you want.”

Pepper moved away from him.

“They’re just in the—” Tony started to move, realized his pants were around his thighs, and stopped. “Oops.”

“Keep your pants down,” Pepper said, and jerked open the pantry. She reached in.

“I don’t think there are—oh,” he said, when Pepper pulled back her hand with a condom in it. He frowned. “Did you put condoms in my pantry?”

Rolling her eyes, Pepper closed the pantry. “I put them in every room, Tony.”

“You actually went through my house and put condoms in every room?”

“I’ve had to do worse things,” she said, walking back over to him.

“Like what?”

“Do you really want me to tell you?” Pepper opened the package.

“No.”

“Good,” she said, rolling the condom on.

“Thank you.” He touched her arm, then, as though he wanted to feel the work she was doing at his cock flow up through her hands. “For putting condoms in every room. For—I didn’t want to fuck this up. I was . . . perturbed. Bothered. Petrified I was going to fuck it up.”

Pepper kept her hand around him when she was done with the condom. “Because of a blow job?”

“Yes. No. I didn’t want to see you on your knees.”

Her heart started beating harder. Sometimes she hated that, when he did that to her. “What about now?” she asked quietly.

“Now . . . talk?”

Somehow, she knew exactly what he meant. It had shocked her, the day she realized she could speak his language when other people couldn’t.

It was the day she also realized she really didn’t have any other friends.

Swallowing, she put her lips beside his ear again. “I want to suck your cock,” she said. “I want to wrap my lips around your prick; I want to get you in my mouth and stretch it wide so I can take you all the way—”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Tony said, his hands back on her hips.

“—swallow around you,” she went on, “deeper and deeper. I won’t be able to breathe; you know that—”

“Pepper—”

“I’ll have to through my nose and I’ll suck you till my eyes water; I’ll take you down my throat until you fill it up—”

“ _Pepper—_ ”

“—all the way up, and then you can fuck it; it’ll be just like a cunt for you—”

“Pepper, I’m going to—”

“Don’t you dare,” Pepper said, tightening her hand around the base of the condom and his cock.

“Jesus.” His hips jerked once, hard and mindlessly, and then he wasn’t looking at her, head lolling on the refrigerator. “Jesus, just—please. Please, just—” He shut his eyes.

Pepper sank to her knees, then, and she had all kinds of ideas—the things she was going to do to him, the ways she was going to draw it out. When she put her mouth on him, though, he made a high, tight sound, hips convulsing, and suddenly it was so hard to concentrate. Suddenly there was nothing on the agenda; there was just Tony, how much she wanted him to feel good, how much she wanted to fill her mouth and throat and _body_ with him, her mind, how wet she was between her legs and she just wanted more.

“Pepper.” His hands touched her face and his hips jerked again. “Christ, I,” but he didn’t finish, and then his fist was wrapping in her hair. “Pepper,” he said again, and pushed in, and—she hadn’t lied. She was good at deep throating. She was really good at it, but he was pushing her and his hand in her hair was so tight it hurt, and she had to work at it, really work at it, to get him down and make sure she could breathe, and he kept saying please.

Tony wasn’t really the sort of person who said please very often, but he’d said it last night, and she counted it a victory. He touched the hollows of her cheeks, leaned down to stroke her throat as she worked it down, then jerked deeper. Then he yanked again and she thought her hair might come out of her skull, and feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes, she reached for his balls and twisted.

“Please,” he said. “I can’t. Goddamnit,” he said, and came.

At last he let her go, and she had to pull away, but her hands stayed on his balls as she stood and he convulsed. When his hips slowed, he shuddered, and slumped against the refrigerator. “Take your hand off,” he said, in a croaking voice, so she did. He swallowed hard, then took off the condom. “Christ.”

One-handed, he jerked up his pants, then looked around for the trashcan. It wasn’t really a surprise to her that he didn’t know where his own trashcan was. She’d had to tell him to spit out his gum before meetings before. She’d held out her hand and he’d actually put his chewed gum into it, but she guessed maybe she was above throwing out his used condoms, even if it had been used on her.

He found the trashcan and threw it away, then went over to the coffee pot. It was still half full. He just stood there, looking at it—and she knew he knew how to work _that_ because she’d seen him do it a million times before, but he didn’t pour himself a cup of coffee. Instead her came back over to the refrigerator, where suddenly she realized she was leaning because she could not stand up straight.

“How are you?” he asked, and it sounded like such a _mundane_ question, after what they’d just done, that it took her a moment to parse it.

“Fine,” she said, and tried to smile.

“Really?” he said, like he didn’t believe it. His thumb came up, touched her lips.

She knew what her mouth must look like. Reaching up, she held onto his wrist.

“Does this hurt?” he asked, dragging his thumb across her mouth.

“No.” She tried to kiss his thumb, and he took his hand away.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

Raising her brows, she said, “Same time as you.”

“No it wasn’t.” He turned around, went over to the counter, swiped his phone off of it. “I’ve got a meeting.”

“You’ve got a _press conference_ ,” she said.

He didn’t bother turning around. “At 11:30. My meeting is right now."

“Happy’s taking you in forty-five minutes.”

Stopping, he held out his phone, scrolling down the screen. “Come with me.”

“I have work to do.”

He just kept scrolling through his phone. “Don’t come with me, don’t get to find out what my meeting is.”

“I don’t care what your meeting is; I care if you get to your press conference on time.”

“If you don’t come with me, you don’t get to make sure I get to the press conference. That’s in _three hours_.”

“Two and a half.”

“Bring a tablet,” he said.

So she brought a tablet.

*

**9:03 am**

Pepper asked him once, just once, about the meeting. He hadn’t answered, which meant she wasn’t going to get any more out of him. He’d also insisted on walking, saying it was only a little way, which dangerous when it came to Tony. Once he’d wanted to walk to a bistro he’d said was three blocks away; it had ended up being three miles. He’d obviously never walked in high heels.

Then again, maybe he had. With Tony Stark, you just never knew.

She was on her phone for most of the walk.

> 35\. Return Fisk’s call.  
>  36\. Text Romanoff.

S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted Iron Man; by all rights, Romanoff should have been calling Tony after all. Pepper knew that plenty of CEOs would have encouraged that distance between Tony and herself, between Tony and Stark Industries, between Iron Man and Stark Industries. Pepper was not plenty of CEOs, and Romanoff called her for all the reasons Pepper had told Tony: Natasha knew that Pepper was the one who scheduled all the meetings. Pepper was grateful for it—it kept her in the loop. She suspected that was another reason Natasha did it, and Pepper owed her for that.

> 37\. Check with the Hilton again.  
>  38\. Call Leona about Kitty.  
>  39\. Update Happy re: his departure time.

Pepper always put a cushion in Tony’s departure times so that he would actually reach his destination significantly ahead of time. Still, she hated having to use some of said cushion time before they even _departed_.

> 40\. Call Francesca.  
>  41\. Follow up with Stone.

**9:26**

When Tony held open the door to the diner, he said, “I’ll take that,” and plucked her phone out of her hand.

“I was talking to _People_ ,” Pepper said.

Tony touched something on her phone, then put it in his pocket. “You can talk to people here,” he said, moving through the crowded tables in the diner. “Persons, even. I’m a person.”

“ _People_ magazine, Tony,” Pepper said, taking out her tablet.

“Put that away.”

“You said I could bring it.”

“I didn’t say you could use it,” he said, and slid into a booth.

Pepper turned the tablet off, and sat down across from him. “This isn’t a meeting, is it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, it is.” Tony looked over the plastic menu sitting on the table. “You should have orange juice.”

“I don’t want orange juice.”

“Grapefruit juice?”

“I don’t want grapefruit juice.”

“Pomegranate juice?” He frowned at her over his menu. “You can’t be too picky about your juice, Pepper. I don’t think they have an orchard back there.”

“You lied to me.”

“Their breakfast burritos are really good.”

“Tony, why did you lie to me?”

“I wanted you to have a breakfast burrito? I know you don’t like omelets.”

“I like omelets.”

“Oh. You just don’t like my omelets. We could also get the French toast and split.”

“You already ate,” she pointed out.

“We could still get both,” he said.

“Tony—”

“You don’t eat breakfast,” he said, folding his menu. “You don’t get enough sleep; you don’t take long enough showers; you don’t eat enough ice cream; you don’t relax enough.”

Pepper just frowned at him. “Neither do you.”

“I eat ice cream all the time.”

Pepper glanced down at the menu. “There aren’t breakfast burritos here.”

“What?”

“There are no breakfast burritos here. You said you wanted me to have a breakfast burrito.”

Tony licked his lips. “I relax.”

“That doesn’t mean that there are breakfast burritos.”

“I relax when I’m around you. You make me feel relaxed.”

“That doesn’t mean you can—” She stopped because he’d reached out across the table and linked his hand with hers, his rough, calloused fingers slipping between her own softer ones and tugging, just a little. Surprised, she looked down at it—down at him holding her hand—and tried to think of whether she’d ever seen him hold hands with anyone. Ever.

She couldn’t think of a single time.

Just then a waiter came up and said, “Hi, my name is Tim. I’ll be your waiter.”

Pepper hated Tim. She hated him so much, him and his very college approach, him and the way he just looked like a kid making ends meet between classes and part-time shifts; she hated him for ruining this moment. Then she realized it wasn’t Tim’s fault, and tried to take her hand away from Tony’s.

Tony held on. “Tim,” he said. “She’ll have O.J., grapefruit juice and—what was it—pomegranate juice.”

“Um,” said the waiter. “We don’t have pomegranate juice.”

“Just bring us all the juice,” said Tony.

“He’ll pay for it,” Pepper said reassuringly. “I’ll just have water.”

Tim frowned a little. “Uh, so, do you want—”

Pepper smiled kindly. “It’s best to just do what he said, and we’ll sort it. Thanks.”

“Okay,” said Tim. “I’ll give you a moment to—”

“We know what we want,” said Tony. “Breakfast burritos.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have—”

“I’ll have the French toast,” Pepper said quickly, before this became a scene, “and all I wanted from the breakfast burrito was scrambled eggs and hot sauce. Do you have hot sauce?”

“Sure,” said Tim. “Will that be all, or did you want—”

“That’s all.” Pepper smiled, because he _was_ just some college kid, and it wasn’t his fault he ended up at Tony Stark’s table, and she always just felt so sorry for them. “Thanks.”

Tim left, and Tony was just staring at her. “You sure handled Tim,” he said, after a moment.

His thumb was moving in circles on the inside of her wrist. Pepper wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it. “You were going to make a scene,” she said.

“I don’t make scenes.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t hold hands with strangers.”

“Sometimes scenes need to be made.”

“Not over breakfast burritos.”

“You’re right.” Tony looked around the diner, then back down at their clasped hands. “Is this a date?”

“This?” Pepper raised her brows. “Coercing me into a diner by lying to me and interfering with my job, then ordering a bunch of drinks I don’t want?”

“Yeah, is that how it’s done?”

Pepper smiled a little, because now that she was over the lying part . . . well. “This can be a date.”

“I wanna do it right.”

“I know that.”

“So, the blow job this morning—that was alright?”

Pepper could feel her skin go hot. She wanted to take her hand away, but half of her felt sure he meant to embarrass her, so she didn’t even bother trying. “Yes.”

“Really?”

“I _started_ it.”

He grimaced briefly, his hand slipping out of hers. “I don’t think you finished it.”

Pepper pressed her lips together. “You’re assuming I have a problem with that.”

“No. Do you?”

“What do you like about me, Tony?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“I’d honestly like to know.”

“Definitely a trick.” Tony looked around at the diner again, then back at her. “What do I like about you? Freckles.”

“What else?”

He just stared at her. “You’re Pepper.”

“Yes. And what do I do when you make an ass of yourself?”

“Fix it.”

“What else do I do?”

“So, you’ll tell me, if you don’t like it.”

Pepper gave him a slight smile, then moved her foot under the table until it touched his ankle. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.”

“Pepper.”

She kept moving her foot against his ankle. “What?”

“You’re touching my ankle. You have no idea how sensitive my ankles are.”

Raising her brows, she said, “I have an idea.”

He made a little face, his mock _oh God_ face, which was sometimes a serious _oh God_ face as well. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Turnabout,” she said.

“I drive you crazy?” He moved his foot against hers.

“You didn’t tell me you were dying; you almost died; you put strawberry jam on my breakfast; yes, you drive me crazy.”

“I can’t believe we’re playing footsy.” He reached out, taking her hand again. “I’m not good at making omelets. English muffins.”

“I can feed myself.”

“Can you? Of course you can. I want . . .” He looked down at their hands. “I want to be good for you. The way you’re good for me.”

Pepper looked down at their hands, because she didn’t know what to say.

“I know I’m not. I mean, I know I can’t—I want you to get enough sleep at night. I want to massage your feet. I want you to go to the spa. I want you to get your face all green and wear those little things that look like cucumbers over your eyes.”

“They’re called cucumbers.” She looked up at him. “I don’t have time for the spa.”

“This is what I mean. I want you to have time for the spa.”

“That’s not who I am, Tony.”

“I know. I just mean . . .” He was rubbing circles against her wrist again. “I want you to be happy. I want to give you what you need. Anything you need. Jumbo jets and dinners with your mom and vacations in Indonesia.”

“You want to have dinner with my mother?”

“Wouldn’t you rather have vacations in Indonesia?” He kept rubbing circles. “I’m just—you need to help me with this. I know I’m not good at it. I suck.”

“What are you saying?”

“You need to communicate with me.”

“ _I_ need to—”

“Don’t turn it back on me. This is about you, for once. You want to check the time right now, don’t you.”

“No.”

“You want to check stocks and your alerts and your messages; you wanna check on the venue to make sure they’re getting set up; you wanna check with _Tim_ and make sure he’s gonna hurry up on that juice, because this—talking about you—this is not on the agenda. I bet talking about me is on the agenda. But you’re not.” His hand was doing different things to hers, now, touching the inside of her palm, tracing down each finger and back again.

“You can’t blame me for that,” she said.

“I know. I’m the one who ordered all the juice.”

“I don’t want to check the time.” She looked down at their hands. “Sometimes when I’m with you, it just . . . stops. Everything just stops. There isn’t any agenda. I don’t even know why.”

His fingers slid between hers again, tightened. “Help me. You help me with everything else. Help me be what you need.”

Pepper thought about telling him that she needed him safe, and whole. She thought about telling him that she needed someone who wasn’t constantly putting himself in danger, someone she could rely upon to always be there, to never worry her, to grow old by her side. She thought about telling him she didn’t need Iron Man, but she knew that that would be telling him she didn’t need _him_ , and that part just wasn’t true.

“I need you to make it to your press conference on time,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. “I can do that.”

“You can massage my feet when you get back from D.C.”

“Are you going with me?”

“In case you forgot, I have a corporation to run.”

“I didn’t forget. We have an office in New York.”

“Do you need to look at a map?”

“No.” He looked down at their hands again. “Did you put feet-rubbing on your agenda?”

“What agenda?”

“The one you have in your head.”

Pepper hesitated. “I might have.”

“’Kay. Can you also put on there, ‘let him suck your fingers’?”

“Individually, or together?”

“One at a time, first. Then maybe two or three. Then I want to . . . do other things with them.”

Pepper smiled. “I’ll see if I can work it into my schedule,” she said.

He smiled back.


End file.
